Reversed Roles: Hijacking Katniss
by mockingjaygatsby
Summary: This is an idea written hundreds of times, but all the ones I've read never feel quite right to me. I decided to give it a swing. My first fanfic reverses the roles of Peeta and Katniss. It begins at the end of Catching Fire and goes into Mockingjay. While Peeta is safe in District 13, Katniss is facing endless horrors in the Capitol.
1. Chapter 1

Reversed Roles: Katniss' Hijacking

I awaken to the sound of shuffling footsteps. Groggily, I attempt to sit up, and realize there is an oxygen mask on my face. I swipe clumsily at it until it slides off. I push myself to my feet and look around me. I am alone in a room of a hovercraft. What am I doing here? I lean against the nearest wall while I try to gather my thoughts. I close my eyes and will my mind to take me back to the moments before I blacked out.

_I am in the Quarter Quell arena. Finnick and I are guarding Beetee while he finishes looping his wire around the lightning tree. Beetee's plan to electrocute the careers is almost ready, and I have no doubt that it will work. Johanna and Katniss have taken the coil-_

Katniss! Immediately my mind begins to race and my body tenses. I need to find her. I push through the doors of the tiny room and find myself in an empty hallway. "Katniss!" I call, desperately hoping to hear her reply. "Katniss! Where are you?" Adrenaline courses through my veins as I sprint down the hall and burst into the doors on the other side. "Katniss! Are you-" my words are cut off by the surprise of what I find myself looking at. Finnick, Plutarch, and Haymitch stand gathered around a table.

"What is this? What's going on? Where's Katniss?" I demand.

"Peeta." Plutarch begins. I don't let him finish.

"Where is she? What did you do with her? Tell me!" I yell, my voice rising in anger and panic. I direct my gaze to Haymitch, my eyes pleading. "Haymitch. Where is she? Please." Haymitch takes a deep breath, and I hold mine as I wait for his response.

"Peeta, we are on a hovercraft on our way to District 13-" I begin to interrupt him, but he silences me with a sharp look. "This plan to rescue you tributes from the arena has been growing for some time. About half the tributes were in on it. We couldn't risk you and Katniss knowing-" unable to wait anymore, I finally break.

"WHERE THE HELL IS SHE?" I howl, rushing towards Haymitch. I grab his shoulders firmly and shake his entire body. "WHERE IS KATNISS?" Plutarch puts a hand on my shoulder and I shake it off. He clears his throat and I turn to him.

"Rescuing Katniss was our main mission. But once she blew out the force field, Capitol hovercrafts were swarming her almost immediately. We managed to save you, Finnick, and Beetee, but….the Capitol got Johanna and Katniss." As Plutarch says this, he averts his eyes to the ground. My mind is reeling. I turn my attention back to Haymitch and deliver a harsh blow to his jaw. He staggers back.

"You were supposed to save her! You promised! You…" My anger turns to despair and I sink to my knees. "She was supposed to live." I can feel the tears welling in my eyes, feel my throat begin to close up. I release a howl of anguish, but before I can release another, I feel a swift prick in my arm…. My last thought is of Katniss, picking a single dandelion. Then darkness consumes me.

. . . . .


	2. Chapter 2

I am lost in a world of fog. I feel sluggish, as though I am trying to sprint through thick mud. I know I am dreaming. I also know something very bad has happened. I struggle to regain consciousness. Slowly, my head clears. My eyes flutter open and try to focus on something. Anything. I am in a room so white it almost hurts my eyes. I look to my left and see a small steel table with what look like the professional versions of medical tools my mother and Prim have at home. I try to sit up, but I am unable to. I am tied down on a cold metal table. A wave of panic rolls through me, and I begin fighting the restraints on my wrists.

"Ms. Everdeen, please stop. You're going to hurt yourself."

I pause, and slowly shift my gaze to the owner of the voice. It belongs to a man standing at the foot of the table. How long has he been standing there? The man is fairly tall, with curly black hair. His green eyes are unwavering as they stare at me. He offers a slight smile.

"Where am I? Who are you?" I begin. Hundreds of questions race through my mind. I look desperately at him, begging him to make sense of my life.

"Ms. Everdeen, you are in the Capitol."

I am not prepared to hear this. I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding, and my body begins to tremble. I feel my muscles tense, waiting for the fight that will not come. Suddenly, one question shoots to the front of my mind. "Where's Peeta? Where is he?" I ask the man. He raises his eyebrows just slightly, but says nothing. "WHERE THE HELL IS PEETA?" I shriek, fighting the restraints. I thrash my body wildly on the table, desperately trying to free myself. I need to find Peeta, keep him alive. I hear the click of a door, and realize the man has left. I am alone. Still fighting the restraints, I hear a slight hiss from above. A purple gas has begun filtering in through the vent. I stare at it until my vision goes dark. My last thought is of Peeta's smile.


	3. Chapter 3

I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. I have been lying on the stiff bed in my cramped room for days. I don't remember the last time I ate, and I really don't care. I see no interest in having a future if it doesn't involve Katniss. I might as well wither away; I'm just taking up valuable space and air here in 13. I spend some of the time I lie here trying to remember who I am. The rest of the time I am thinking about her. I try to remember who I am by repeating the things I am sure about. _My name is Peeta Mellark. I lived in District 12. They tell me there is no more District 12. My family is dead. Katniss is probably dead. I wish I were dead._

I should never have let her go with Johanna. I should have went with her. Protected her. I'd dedicated my life to saving hers, and I'd failed miserably. I let my mind wander back to the last time I saw Katniss.

_Johanna and Katniss are leaving to deliver the coil of wire to the beach. I watch Katniss disappear into the lush green of the jungle. There's this awful, twisting sensation in my gut- the same one I felt in my first Games when Katniss wanted to go to the cornucopia to get my medicine. It's the feeling that warns me something dreadful is about to happen. I tell myself everything will be fine, Katniss will be fine. I direct my attention back to Beetee. He's putting the finishing touches on the lightning tree when we hear a swift snap and the wire comes springing back from the jungle. I feel the blood drain from my face, and without thinking, I sprint into the jungle._

I hear the door open a crack, and I shift so I am facing it. It's Prim.

"Peeta," she enters my room and lightly sits on the edge of my bed. "It's dinner time. You need to eat." Prim has been the most patient with me. She understands my grief in a way that only Katniss' sister could. She gives me the time I need to process this new kind of pain, whereas Haymitch gets irritated with me and saunters off. Part of me feels bad that Prim has to deal with me, but that part is suppressed deep under the avalanche of sorrow I feel. I sit up and swing my legs off the bed so I am sitting next to her. Even though Prim has a different hair and eye color than Katniss, I still see her for a split second every time I look at Prim. It's painful, but it's a pain I endure. Prim is part of her. For now, Prim is as close as I can get to my Girl on Fire.

"How do you do it?" I ask. "How do you keep living, knowing they probably tortured her to death?" my voice cracks and I swallow a sob. I raise my eyes to meet hers. She considers this for a moment before answering.

"Katniss is the strongest person I know. She is smart and compassionate and brave. I know I will never be able to be like her, but now is the time when I need to try. I need her fight. That same fight that has kept her alive even against all odds. She is alive, you know. I can feel it. And if she could speak to us right now, she would tell me to be strong for her. And to take care of you." Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. "She loves you, Peeta. And she'll come back for you." I pull her into an embrace, her words replaying in my head. I want so badly for her to be right. Once we have collected ourselves, we stand up and I let her pull me to the cafeteria.

. . . . .

I sit with Prim and her mother in the cafeteria, but we don't do much more than push our food around on our trays. I glance up from my tray, and find myself staring directly into Gale's gray eyes. He sits three tables away from me, but his eyes don't leave me. I know exactly what he's thinking. _He's wishing Katniss had been saved from the arena, and I had been left to rot at the hands of the Capitol. For once, Gale and I are in agreement. _Unable to bear his accusing glare, I push up from the table and head to the door, but the sound of static stops me. I turn around to see all the televisions in the cafeteria humming to life.

When the TVs finally clear, Caesar Flickerman's familiar face stares at me from every screen. He is speaking, but I can't hear his words over the myriad of voices in the cafe. I walk quickly to the closest TV, and suddenly I'm not staring into the face of Caesar. The face I'm staring into belongs to Katniss.

A strangled cry escapes my throat, and relief washes over me in massive waves. She's alive. She's _alive._ I cautiously reach a hand toward the screen, as though she is a timid deer and any sudden movement could cause her to flee. My fingertips brush the image of her face, and then I see her, _really_ see her. Her eyes have dark purple rings around them, and she is much thinner. These are the only noticeable changes. Katniss opens her mouth and begins to speak.

"Peeta?" she says, looking directly into the camera. Directly into me. "Peeta, if you're there, I want you to…to…" she falters, grasping for the words to bring her thoughts to life. Her eyes flit in every direction. She regains her composition, though, and returns her gaze to the camera. "Peeta, I _need_ you to keep fighting! Don't let the revolution die!" She sputters, and the screen crackles to static. But not before I see Katniss' face contort in pain caused by some unseen force, and she lets loose a feral shriek.

. . . . .


	4. Chapter 4

. . . . .

Every pair of eyes in the cafeteria are on me. I can feel them, burning holes into my skin, waiting for my response. The people in 13 are so starved for action that they drink in my horror, revel in my personal hell. I can't let them see me break. Before I can react to what I've seen, I sprint through the doors. I run down corridor after corridor, taking random turns until I am in a part of 13 I'm sure I have never been to. I fumble to open a maintenance closet, and when I manage to open it, I fling myself inside, tightly shutting the door behind me. I wedge myself in between the various cleaning supplies, and sink to the ground. As soon as my body touches the floor, my dam of emotions erupts. My body racks with sob after sob, each wail becoming stronger than the last.

_What have they done to her?_

Of _course_ Katniss' first priority is not her safety, as it should be, but keeping the fragile flame of the rebellion flickering. I know how important this rebellion is to her, and it's definitely important to me, too, but not even close to how important Katniss is to me. She is so selfish in her unselfishness. She is unselfish in that she is willing to give her life for others over and over again. But she is selfish in that she is so willing to sacrifice herself, with no thought to how it would unequivocally destroy me. I suppose my wishing for the safety of Katniss rather than the success of the rebellion is quite selfish, but I don't dwell on that. The only thing I can think of is the excruciating look of pain etched on Katniss' face before the connection was severed. It is burned into my brain; branded on my eyelids.

Having cried myself out, I lean my head against the wall and take deep breaths. I try to imagine my life without Katniss. I know good and well that I would never, could never find love again. I'm not sure if she loves me now, or ever has, but I've loved her for most of my life. And I will continue loving her until my heart stops. What I wouldn't do to see her, hold her one more time. I hear a tug on the closet door, and my head snaps up. The door edges open, and Finnick walks in and sits across from me.

"How'd you find me?" I ask, even though I can guess the answer.

"Your sobs were hardly difficult to follow," he replies easily. He hurries on. "They have Annie, too. I know it. They took her to use against me, the same way they're using Katniss." His sea green eyes meet mine, and in them I see a reflection of my own anguish.

"What do you think they're doing to them?" I probe, already having imagined the worst. He just shakes his head and lets out a remorseful laugh.

"Whatever it takes to break us. But until then, they're going to dangle them in front of us like meat to dogs." I glance down and see his hands fumbling with a length of rope.

"What are you doing?" I ask, nodding to the rope.

"Tying knots. It helps keep my mind off her, although it's not very effective." He looks up from his knot tying and meets my gaze. "From the beginning, from your first Games, I believed that the 'star-crossed lovers' were a hoax. A ploy to keep you both alive. An elaborate one, and very effective. It wasn't until in the Quarter Quell, when your heart stopped, that I realized I couldn't have been more wrong." He shifts his body and finishes an intricate knot, then tugging it loose and starting over.

"What do you mean?" I ask, ravenous for his response.

"She loves you, Peeta. Anyone watching could see how much she loves you. I don't know in what way she loves you; there are a million ways to love someone. But without a doubt, Katniss _loves_ you."

If I had any tears left to shed, they would be streaming down my face. Instead, I release a shaky breath. Finnick stands, and extends his hand to help me up. "Come on," he says. "We have something we need to do." I stand, and we leave the closet, striding down the hall with a newfound urgency. I attempt to calm my fried nerves.

_My name is Peeta Mellark. I lived in District 12. They tell me there is no more District 12. I was in the Quarter Quell. I escaped. Katniss didn't. But Katniss is alive._

That's all I could've hoped for.

. . . . .


	5. Chapter 5

I lie slumped in the corner of my room, shivering despite my thin blanket so graciously given to me by the Capitol. The only things in the small area are the metal table I woke up on and a camera perched in the corner to keep surveillance on me at all times. The sound-proof door squeals open and the man with the black hair and green eyes, who I have decided to call Fido because he is always fetching me, steps in. He walks over to me and loops his arm around my waist and helps me stand. Since my arrival here, which I estimate to be about two weeks ago, I have become pretty weak.

I suspect that I am being taken once again to be pushed for knowledge of the Quarter Quell escapade, even though I've told them time and time again that neither I nor Peeta had any idea of the plan. Each time I insist I didn't know anything, I earn a new bruise. Instead of leading me to the usual interrogation room, Fido takes me down an unfamiliar path until we reach an equally unfamiliar room. He gestures for me to enter, and once I set foot over the threshold, the stench infiltrates my nose. Roses.

President Snow stands in the middle of the room, his back to me, speaking with someone whom I cannot see, but can identify by the familiar sound of his voice. Caesar. I stand frozen in the doorway, paralyzed at the sight of President Snow. He hasn't noticed my presence yet, and I try to prolong my invisibility, but Caesar catches sight of me and clears his throat. Snow turns around and once his gaze meets mine, his thin lips curl into the treacherous grin that has come to haunt my nightmares.

"Well, look who it is. The Girl on Fire, all burnt out." He says, never breaking eye contact. I harden my stare and clench my jaw, shoulders squared. The Capitol has taken so much from me, but I refuse to let them have my rebellion.

"Too bad you couldn't put the fire out before it spread," I retort. His smirk falters the tiniest bit, but remains plastered on his face. Caesar, ever the philanthropist, breaks the stare down between Snow and me as he comes to greet me.

"Katniss, it's _so_ good to see you. I'm so glad the Capitol was able to rescue you before those rebels tried anything," Caesar says, and I can see in his eyes that he believes every word he speaks. _Yeah_, I think, _rescued_. But I match his grin and agree with him anyways.

"So, what am I needed for?" I finally ask, anxiety prickling my skin. Caesar is the one who answers my question.

"You and I are going to have a little interview!" He states, appearing to be genuinely excited. As if on cue, a prep team descends upon me. They begin by bathing me and fighting to free my hair of the snarls. They then blow dry it, and leave it hanging down my back. There will be no presence of my signature braid in the Capitol. They begin to dab at my face with makeup, until President Snow speaks up.

"Leave the bruises," he says, "I want them to see that their 'fearless leader' cannot even save herself." The prep team obeys, but they continue to apply a minimal amount of blush and lip gloss. They dress me in a simple white frock. Once they are finished, I stare at myself in the mirror. The dress hangs off my prominent ribs, and my face looks every bit as abused as it feels. They then lead me to two chairs facing each other underneath a canopy of bright lights and in front of a camera. I sit down, and Caesar soon joins me.

"Alright, Katniss, I'm just going to be asking you some easy questions about the Games. Nothing hard," he assures me.

"Will this be broadcast live?" I ask, trying my best to act nervous about being on television while hiding my budding idea. He nods, and reaches over to pat my knee.

"You'll do great, just like you always do." With that, he motions that the camera man begin filming, and he puts on his famous grin and directs his gaze to the camera. "Good evening Panem, and welcome to a very special program. I sit here with Katniss Everdeen, who is here to answer some very important questions about the Quarter Quell." Caesar says, adverting his eyes to me. "Tell me about that last night in the arena. What happened?"

I take a deep breath as I try to gather my thoughts. "I was just trying to finish Beetee's plan…keep Peeta alive," I start shakily. "After Johanna cut my arm, all hell broke loose. I was so confused and disoriented; I could barely even stand. The only thing that propelled me forward was the thought of Peeta.

I couldn't find him, but I could hear Finnick calling my name. Once I reached the lightning tree…" I taper off, unsure how to finish.

"You blew out the force field, Katniss," Caesar finishes for me, and I try my best to act like a stupid, confused girl.

"I saw Beetee on the ground, and his branch wrapped with the wire…I didn't know what he was doing. I hardly even remember that night, but I remember sliding the coil off the branch and onto my arrow…why, I'm not sure. Peeta was the only thing on my mind."

"If you could speak to Peeta, if he is watching this right now, what would you want to say to him?"

I know what Snow wants me to say. He wants me to try to snuff the rebellion, to tell Panem to quit the fighting and accept that life will always be as bad as it has been since the Uprising. To give up hope. I think of Peeta. I've been told he is in District 13, which I do not completely understand, but I believe he is safe there. Peeta, the boy who loved me unconditionally, even when I was unable to reciprocate his feelings. Peeta, who would give up his life for me over and over again. In this moment, I realize I've been in love with him since the moment on the beach. Maybe even longer.

Peeta is safe now, I think, which means I've accomplished my only goal. Now, I can afford to have a different goal. My eyes flit frantically around the room, trying to find words to match my thoughts. I know my new goal will come at a cost. But a cost only to me, I realize. At this realization, a heavy weight lifts off my shoulders, and I look directly into the camera. "Peeta?" I say, hoping with my entire being that he is watching. "Peeta, if you're there, I want you to…to…" I waver, swallowing the lump in my throat from just the thought of Peeta. I regain my composure and continue. "I _need_ you to keep fighting! Don't let the revolution die!" I gasp. Within seconds, I feel an astounding amount of electricity coursing through my body, immobilizing me. I release one spine-chilling scream before I pass out.

. . . . .

When I come to, I am strapped to a hospital bed, but I am not in a hospital. I am in a stark room, with nothing in it except the projector that sits facing me. I don't even bother to fight my restraints. Soon, an unfamiliar woman walks in, bringing with her an IV of fluid that has a strange, opaque tint to it. She silently begins to insert the IV into my forearm. "What is that?" I ask. She doesn't look up, and remains mute. I feel the liquid enter my bloodstream, and almost immediately adrenaline course through me.

The woman flips a switch on the projector, and leaves the room as quietly as she came in. The projector flickers to life, and what I see before me hits me like a punch to the gut. I see Peeta. Smiling, holding me, kissing me. I yearn for his presence so much it is physically painful. Suddenly, the image changes. It's still Peeta, but his normally gentle eyes have turned into something menacing. No, I think, this is not Peeta. This is not Peeta. But once projector Peeta opens his mouth, deep red blood begins trickling from his lips as he grins.

. . . . .


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello everyone! I've been kind of stumped about where to take the story. I haven't posted in a while so I wanted to get a new chapter out, although I don't think it's my best. I appreciate you reading my story, and your comments!**

. . . . .

I have lost all concept of the passage of time. It seems like it's been months, years, centuries since the last Games. It might as well have been another lifetime. I'm not even sure who I am anymore. I don't know what the Capitol has done -and is still doing- to me, but whatever it is, it has torn me in two, split me right down my middle. Two different versions of Katniss. One version is the Katniss I know, I identify with, and my loved ones recognize. The other Katniss, this strange, unfamiliar person, I sometimes don't even believe she belongs to me. I remember once hearing my mother tell Prim about a patient who had what she called multiple personality disorder. I didn't quite understand fully how one person could be many, but now I do. Much too well. The two sides of me take turns dominating my brain and body, but they are unpredictable and random. Sometimes my two sides meet, like two colors bleeding together on a canvas to create one ugly shade. It is in those times that I wish, more than anything, that I was dead.

The Other Katniss is irritable, edgy, and above all, violent. Not physically, of course, as I am usually bound by restraints, but in her thoughts. She thinks of things that I find only in the darkest crevices of my mind, thoughts that jolt me from sleep with cries of terror.

I have almost no power against this Other Katniss, but I've never been one to go down without a fight.

When I feel the shift between personalities coming on, I fight ferociously, desperately competing to regain control of myself. I can delay the shift by a few seconds, but my flickering flame of hope is never enough to find my way out of the night.

The thick door to my shadowy room cracks open, and a sliver of light infiltrates the darkness and draws me from my trance-like state. As my eyes adjust to the light, Fido wordlessly steps into the room and helps me up from where I lie on the table. We walk down the now familiar corridors and turn down the familiar halls. This has become routine. I could find my way around here with my eyes closed. I am well aware of the torment I am walking into, but the repercussions of fighting the inevitable are even worse. So I accept my torture.

I stop in front of the door that has become so familiar I can recognize the imperfections in it. A scratch of missing paint in the top right corner, a nick in the frame right next to the handle, and a curious little dent right in the center. Fido unlocks the door and I step in. As usual, the nurse is almost done setting up the projector and prepping the IV. I take my seat in the elevated hospital bed and watch numbly as she fastens the restraints on my wrists and ankles. I am anticipating the prick of the IV needle into my forearm, but it doesn't come. Instead, the door swings open and in walks President Snow.

I have so little energy left I hardly even startle. The nurse steps into the hall and President Snow pulls up a chair next to my bed. His eyes sweep over me, taking in the broken girl who eroded his sparkling nation. Once his eyes reach mine, we engage in a staring contest that seems to stretch on for hours. It is only broken once he opens his mouth to speak.

"Ms. Everdeen, it's been a while since we've last spoken," Snow begins, adjusting the single rose that rests on his lapel. "But I wanted to personally see how you are responding to this new form of treatment."

A harsh laugh bursts through my clenched teeth, and I shake my head. "Treatment. Is that what you're calling it?" President Snow grins at me and continues speaking.

"Do you know what your beloved has been up to? Our little Peeta?" I flinch at his name, my conflicting emotions making me unsure how to feel. I have been trying not to think of him. Thoughts of Peeta bring only internal turmoil and external panic. _I_ know that Peeta is kind and gentle. _She_, however, is certain that he is a threat. "Peeta has been working with 13, valiantly trying to coax more citizens into the rebellion."

"Good!" I spit through my teeth, despite my other side opposing every word that leans in favor of Peeta. "I'm glad! I hope he burns the Capitol to the ground!" I yell, seething with rage. I have begun to slightly tremble from the effort of fighting off the spitting remarks that Other Katniss desperately tried to get out. President Snow chuckles as he stands. He pokes his head out the door and has a concise conversation with the nurse. They both re-enter the room, and the nurse moves to insert the needle into my arm.

"I am confident your opinion will be quite different after this session." He tells me, taking his seat next to me. With the needle securely in my arm and the fluid dripping steadily into my veins, the nurse flicks on the projector and exits the room.

I glower at President Snow, the light from the projector flickering across his features. As my eyes remain fixed on him, his remain fixed on the projector. I don't shift my gaze until I hear my name being called from the projector.

The projector is presenting a video of Peeta from our first Games. My skin prickles and adrenaline courses through me, from both worry for Peeta and fear of him. My body is tensed; my eyes wide and my mind alert. I can feel the shift coming on, but I am too exhausted and distracted to fight it. Slowly, my two personalities merge together but don't quite mix, like water and oil. Soon enough, Other Katniss has taken control.

The projection shows Peeta Mellark hunched over in a damp cave, his eyes gazing intensely at something. Someone, I realize. He is staring at my sleeping figure, curled up in a coat. This confuses me. _I remember the cave from my first Games, _I think, trying to make sense of what I am seeing. _When was Peeta Mellark there? _Shaking my head to scatter the confusion, I turn my attention back to the projection.

Peeta reaches his hand out and begins to stroke my hair. Gently at first, then harder. And harder. Until his hands come away with bloody clumps of my hair clenched between his fingers. I don't scream though; I don't even wake. It is then that I see the pool of blood growing beneath me and a gash in my abdomen that stretches from the right side of my collarbone to my left hip. Peeta smiles.

As I watch the scene unfolding in front of me, I begin fighting the restraints in a hot panic. I jerk my arms and kick at the binds on my legs, all the while shrieking at the horror I am seeing. My fingernails dig into my palms until they break skin and I feel blood begin to dribble down my arms.

While I thrash and flail, trying desperately to free myself, I catch sight of President Snow. He is watching me, and his expression surprises me so much that for a moment my struggle wavers.

I don't think I've ever seen him happier.

. . . . .


End file.
